List of Victors
Characters Paladin A muscular and broad-shouldered boy, his brown hair is shorn short in a dignified manner. Deep-set hazel eyes rest in his thick skull. Blacksmith A rather average boy whose hands are marked with calluses and scars from working in the Smithy his entire life. His thick, banded arms are muscled and strong from his hard work, but he is not as muscular as the Paladin. He has slick, inky black hair and azure blue eyes. Tailor A girl who works as a tailor in ???. She's slender, athletic, with shoulder-length, fair, curly hair and cornflower-blue eyes. She usually holds a wry, crooked smile that is slightly at odds with the rest of her delicate features. Hunter Haven Hunter is average sized sixteen year-old, but is decently athletic. He has thick, brown hair that is close-cropped to his head. Piercing brown eyes accentuate an otherwise unremarkable countenance, a round face with an overly average nose and thin lips. Hunter has pale skin, a common characteristic of those from the north, especially for those whom rarely spent time outdoors, like Hunter. Garret Clausen Garret is student at Woodbury High and has lived in the town for his entire life. He is the first student that Hunter meets and quickly befriends him. Garret stands just below average height, at 5'9. He has shaggy brown hair and brown eyes. Celeste Stryker Celeste is a student at Woodbury High and the daughter of Tiberius Styker, the CEO and founder of Stryker Industries. She is a friendly, soft-spoken girl who has incredible artistic abilities and almost always carries a sketchbook with her. Although she is kind and a little meek, she is not afraid to speak her mind and is quite intelligent. She has chin-length curly, light auburn hair and brown eyes. Seraphina Saunders Seraphina, or Sera as she prefers to be called, is a student at Woodbury High. She has lived in the town for her entire life but is bored to death by the bland and rote nature of it. Her father is a renowned doctor at a nearby hospital and her mother is an attorney, both of whom wish to see her replicate the success that they have achieved. Sera, however, hates the pressure they set onto her and often lashes out. Sera adopts a cold, ruthless personality fitting of the juvenile delinquent that she is, but underneath this facade Sera is a funny, kind girl who simply doesn't yet know her place in the world. Sera is tall for a girl, standing at 5'7. She often dresses in leather clothing and has pieces of metal attached. She wears cross-shaped earrings and has long, dark hair that she has highlighted by dying a multitude of different colors. Alistair Styrker Alistair is a senior student at Woodbury High and the adopted son of Tiberius Styker, the CEO and founder of Stryker Industries. He is an honor student who routinely finishes at the top of his class in every category. Tall and handsome, with golden blond hair and blue eyes, Alistair is unsurprisingly popular with his female classmates. Despite this, however, he's very introverted and rarely gets an sort of attachment to other people. Nevertheless, most tend to adore the mystery he brings, especially since he was an orphan with unkown parentage. James Johnson Officer James Johnson is a young police officer in the city of Woodbury. He grew up in the city, but moved here after college. He is suspicious of Stryker Industries and it's these suspicions that bring him into contact with Hunter and CO. Johnson is lean and handsome, straight as a spear, and a body hard with muscle. He has a mop of deep ebony hair, pale blue eyes, and an aquiline nose. He is strong and fast, with a powerful arms and toughened legs from his police training. Chapter One I wake up to ash and dust. Eyes blinking in confusion as I roll over quietly in one of the Krew’s watch-holes—a hidden alcove built into the bricks on the side of the safehouse. From within it, a Krewmember could watch the street for any signs of danger. It is one of the most important jobs we could receive. Zesst would be spitting mad if he found out I was sleeping on guard. I stretch my arms, watching the ashen flakes drift through the air. Leisurely. Careless. Free. The puffs of soot fell like black snowflakes, descending upon the dark city of Luxendarc. They drifted in corners, blowing in the breeze and curling in tiny whirlwinds over the cobblestones. They seemed so uncaring. Unlike me. It's been a long time since I could be carefree and not worry about everything. Since my parents died, actually. That was a long thirteen years ago. The ash continued to fall. Sometimes, I imagined what it would feel like to be the ash or the dust that always rained down on Luxendarc. I'd be without thought, capable of simply being, not caring, or hurting. Then I'd snap back to reality as I realised that I'd just be swept away by the wind, or wiped to nothingness by the LitterBots. Just an annoying speck to be stamped out by the Society. Just like I am now, really. I hear a shuffling a short distance away, then the trap door at the back of the small chamber snaps open. “Hunter!” Krit says, poking his head into the room. “There you are! I've been searching for you for a half hour.” "You know I was on guard," I tell him. I'm glad that I woke before he arrived, I can imagine the scolding I'd receive if word got around that I was slacking on my duties. I guess," Krit shrugs like it doesn't matter to him in the slightest. "But we should get going now. The job’s almost ready to begin.” Krit is a tall and gangly boy about my age. Most of the Krewmembers are about my age, the life of a thief attracts several different demographics: Cruel, cold-hearted people who are in it only for the money and young, ill-prepared denizens who have no other option left. Krit and I fit in the latter category, while Zesst exists in the former. I nod at Krit. "Okay. Let's go." I slide out of the cramped—yet comforting—confines of the watch-hole. I brush past Krit and hop out of the trap door, moving into a run-down pantry. The room was one of many at the back of the store that served as a front for the safehouse. Our crew’s lair itself is hidden in a tunneled stone cavern beneath the building. I leave the building through a back door, Krit trailing behind me. Today's job will happen a few blocks away, in a richer section of town. It's a difficult task—one of the most complex I've ever seen apart of and, assuming that we get away with it, will have the greatest reward ever. I may even be able to finally leave the Krew. On the other hand, if we're caught...Well, the Society is not something to be trifled with. Thieving isn't the most noble of ways to provide for Grandpa and Lissa, but it certainly beats working in the mines or the textile factories. We exit the alleyway, moving out onto a dark, tenement-lined street in one of the city’s many slums. People too sick to work lay huddled in corners and gutters, soot drifting around them. I keep my head down and pull up my cloak’s hood against the still-falling flakes. Many times I've made eye-contact with some of these starving people and been guilted into giving them a few coins or food that I could barely afford to live without. Now, I avoid looking at them altogether, lest I be persuaded to be charitable. Life is harsh on the Society's streets, and if a thief wants to keep from starving to death, he has to be practical. It's not until we've left the slums far behind that I look up. Here, things are slightly better. Most of the buildings have been built from stone blocks, with tile roofs for the wealthy, and simple, peaked wooden roofs for the rest. The structures are packed closely together, making them all seem smaller then they really are. Spread throughout the city are about a dozen monolithic keeps. Covered with intricate designs and topped with rows of nail-like spires or deep archways, these buildings are where the wealthiest citizens of ??? live, as well as where the Praetorian's are housed. "Watch out," Krit murmurs as we reach the wider sections of the city, at the base of one of the huge keeps. Most of the open ground in the city is around these keeps. The rest is basically just narrow alleys and tiny backroads. Nothing at all like Luxendarc, the Society's capital that I see all the time on the HoloScreen. "Watch out for what?" I ask as Krit creeps to the side of a nearby building. Inky blackness runs down the wall, spread by the ashen rain that falls on the slanted rooftops and slides off the edge. The dark stuff is everywhere, carried by the rain and spread by the wind. It clung to the walls and crept into corners, it particularly marred the cobblestone streets. "Praetorian's," Krit nods his head across the clearing, at the keeps edge. I had been so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I hadn't noticed them, but now I do. A pair of them, dressed in simple white cloaks that cover their matching uniform; Armored helmets, ribbed chest plates, and sashes ornamented with with the silver stars of the Society thrown across their shoulders. Everything they wear is white, a curious thing when the ashen rain always streaks and stains the pure color with black grime. After a few hours on patrol, a Praetorian's uniform is more of an ashen gray then white. Right now the pair that I watch wear relatively clean uniforms, showing that they haven't been out for very long as they follow a LitterBot down the street. The quadriplegic machine gently hums as it goes along, sucking up the black sludge that piles up on the floor. They pay us no attention. "So?" I ask, glancing back at Krit. "They're not bothering us." We're not doing anything wrong. It's not a crime in itself to be out and about on the streets, at least, before sundown it isn't. Funny. The curfew was implemented to stop thieving gangs like mine, but all it did was have us move our illicit activities to daylight hours. "I know," Krit sayas, casually walking towards an adjacent alley, all the while keeping an eye on the Praetorian's as they continue down the street parallel to us. "But Zesst told us to be extra careful and I don't want to needlessly anger him by bringing any Praetorian's to his door." "We won't," I say firmly as the pair of guards disappear down the bend of a soot-stained building. Riling Zesst up is the last thing I need. He's an extremely volatile man, prone to fits of wild yelling and audden violence—especially when he's scared or nervous about a plot of his. "We better not," Krit mutters as he takes the lead and slides down several winding alleys. "I still think about that time we messed up the cranberry job." I wince, remembering the incident too vividly. My left cheek still bares a mark from where Zesst struck me. "We won't," I repeat. "We won't mess up. This job will go down without a hitch. I guarantee it." ---- A chill wind has picked up by the time we arrive outside the hotel. The city square is empty as, high in the sky and connected to a keep's side, the HoloScreen flashes with color. The HoloScreen is basically a giant television; a square box with screens on all four sides. Right now it's showing Challenges, a Society wide game show that has "Challengers" compete in a variety of competitions for everyone's amusement. Well, everyone except the Challengers. The Challenges are competitions that range from physical battles, to impossible obstacle courses, to computer-driven tests of agility. To triumph enough times in the challenges is to live the life of a king. To lose is to die. A man sits on a stage, inside of a giant see-through cube, a large bomb set up in front of him as he holds a pair of pliers. A huge crowd surrounds him, cheering and jeering. He's playing Boom! A game where you have to answer trivia questions to disarm a bomb. One Challenger has to answer six questions that have multiple correct answers but only one incorrect answer. The Challenger must cut the wires on a bomb that correspond to the correct answers. If they are incorrect, the bomb explodes "Cut the yellow wire..." I mutter under my breath as I stop to watch the sweaty man. His shaking hands swing the pliers back and forth between the last two remaining wires. Behind him, a clock swiftly counts down. If it reaches zero, the bomb blows--regardless of whether the wrong wire was cut. Krit stops as he notices that my attention has been diverted. We both watch silently as the man carefully uses his pliers to cut the blue wire. Immediately a three second countdown commences. When it ends, we will learn the fate of the Challenger. It's not good. The bomb explodes, eschewing shards of jagged glass that fly out from every orifice. The poor man initially cries out in pain as the glass cuts into his flesh, but he quickly goes silent as he dies painfully from the blows. The crowd cheers wildly as the commentators talk over the situation. "It was the glass bomb!" One of them roars loudly. "He should have cut the yellow wire!" The other opines. I turn away from the HoloScreen, disgusted. Krit lets out a low whistle. "I'd hate to have that happen to us," He says. I don't respond. The truly terrifying thing about the Challenges is that you don't have a choice on whether you compete or not. All convicted criminals in the court of the Society are eligible to be sent to Luxendarc, where they will be forced become Challengers and to compete in the Challenges. No choice whatsoever. "It could happen, you know." Krit says as we walk up to the hotel's doors. "If we're caught, they could very well send us to the Challenges." "I know." I think about it everytime we do a job. Every time I come home to my family. It's the worst way to die, I think. Having everyone treat it like it's some kind of game and cheer when you finally die. "C'mon," Krit grabs my elbow and steers me into the hotel. "The others are waiting for us." Chapter Two The room Zesst has ordered is posh and indulgent. Gold trim line the windows that look out onto the city. Silks and satin cover the magnificent bed. Walls decorated with artistic floral patterns and vast quilted tapestries. Not to mention the food. One pantry alone holds more food than I've seen in a week. "You know," Krit says as he takes a seat in a plush red armchair. "I could get used to this." "Well, don't," I tell him, grabbing a particularly delicious looking pastry from the counter. "We're not staying. We only got this room for the plan." Zesst's plan is almost comical in how much set-up it requires. How much work. It took weeks of thieving and spying to pull it off. Tricking the Society's Magistrates is not a simple task. He--and the others--haven't yet arrived, leaving me and Krit to wait on them. "Oh, I know. Believe me, I know." Krit throws his arms back over his head, a lazy smile flickering on his face. "But if the plan succeeds...Well, we'll have enough money to make this permanent!" I don't hold the same amount of optimism. Sure, the payoff--if we succeed--is to be great. But who will gain most of this wealth? Zesst. Simple footmen such as Krit and I will only get one-sixteenth, if that. Still, it's more than enough for me. Anything is better than nothing. "You're very quiet today, Hunter," Krit raises an eyebrow at me. "Something amatter?" I shrug, taking time to chew and swallow my food before answering. "The plan isn't guaranteed to succeed, you know. And don't forget that we have a part to play too." He sighs, swishing a wine bottle he picked out from a nearby cabinet around in his hands. "Yes, I know. I'd have preferred to stay here, living it up like a Society slob, but I guess--" "PUT THAT DOWN!" Krit jumps in his seat, dropping the bottle and fumbling with it in his lap. I don't budhe. I heard the door opening, and knew what was happening. A man stalks into the room, flanked by several other figures. The man marches up to Krit poking a stern finger into his ribs much harder than necessary. "You slagging idiot! Do you think I bought this room so you could play in it?!" "N-no, sir!" Krit's face pales, hands shaking as he sets the wine bottle back on the table. It doesn't do to upset Zesst. "No is right! I didn't!" Zesst slides forward, faster then a man of his bulk should be, and slaps Krit so hard across the face that he pitches sideways and falls out of his seat. "I bought this room so we could plan! Not behave like a dainty Society fool!" His boots shoots out and connects with Krit's ribs. I hear the grunt of pain as the gangly boy rolls onto his side. "I'm--sorry, sir," He gasps, getting to his hands and knees. "W-won't happen again." Zesst eyes him darkly, then turns away with a low growl. "It better not." Zesst is a gaunt-faced man, with sharp cheekbones and a heavy brow. His nose is large and hooked, hair long, dark and thin and brushed so that it covers the center of his head, where he has begun to bald. A boss of a rival Krew teased him about it once. That boss and his Krew no longer operate. "You all know the plan, I presume?" Zesst looks over the group he brought with him, five total, not counting Krit and myself. They nod. We've rehearsed this many times in the past month. There's no way we would forget. But Zesst still repeats it, just because. "A Society Magistrate will meet with us in this room. As you all know, I've spent the finer parts of the last few years building, scamming, and finagling to create this moment. I will not let it go to waste." Years. Zesst has been planning this heist since before I was even part of the Krew. "Alonso and Beresford will stay here with me," Zesst indicates two darkfaced men who stand in the group. "The rest of you will perform the secondary portion of the plan. You will break into the hotel 'The Students' ''' Prep''' Hunter Haven sat at a small cafeteria table quietly eating his food as, all around him, the other students conversed loudly as they ate.